


Buttercake

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori inadvertently pays for and receives Beorn’s services.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buttercake

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “rimming”“- Ori receiving” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19177229#t19177229).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a mess by the end of dinner, because everything tastes so _good_ —it’s the best they’ve had since Rivendell, and better, because there aren’t elves to be polite around. Beorn laughs when they shovel enough down to make even Bilbo pop his waistcoat open, but it seems fond and kind to Ori. He has so many crumpets that he’s not sure he’ll be able to stand up again, and several of the others seem drowsy when their plates are empty. They have more than their fill, eating more than talking with Gandalf speaking most of their words, but then it’s all over and Thorin grunts, “There must be something we can do to repay you.” Gandalf smiles in approval, and Bombur nods heartily before picking up his plate to lick. 

Beorn just shakes his big head and barks, “I admit that the lot of you are less foul than I would’ve guessed a pack of dwarves to be, but you have nothing I want. Your stories and your slaying of goblins is enough.”

Fíli insists, “But we must have something.” Beorn shakes his head and waves a hand, grumbling a noise of dismissal. He looks a bit like a dog when he shakes, so very scruffy. Ori can see the bear resemblance, though now that he’s served such sweet things, he doesn’t seem nearly so scary.

He tells them, “You’re welcome to the barn,” and gets up to bring his plate to the sink. It stands to reason there wouldn’t be enough beds for them in the house, and the dwarves get up one by one, groaning and stretching and patting their fat stomachs. Ori dips to lick a final blob of strawberry juice off his plate before he stacks it atop the one Balin’s pushed to the middle. 

Despite their offer of aide, the dwarves are off right away. Gandalf takes up the lead, playing host to show them to where they can sleep, and they file past him one by one through the wooden door. Ori lingers behind, at first because he needs a moment to digest, and then because even Bilbo goes, nearly clutching at Thorin’s coat tails, and it leaves a very mess table all alone behind. 

Beorn putters at it, moving things from the table to the counter with a growled hum in the back of his throat. The animals have left by now, and no one’s noticed Ori, though Dori’s bound to look for him at some point. They have such a large pack, and he’s probably the quietest. On the same side of the table as Beorn, he starts to gather the cutlery together, until Beorn holds his giant hand out, and Ori sheepishly lays them in it. 

All of Beorn is _huge_. He’s thick, but not in the way dwarves are, more towering and broad and muscular: all hardened and thoughtfully formed. He’s an intimidating sort of character to be alone with, but of all the dwarves, Ori brides himself on being one of the most willing to travel and accommodate others. Of all the strange things they’ve met on this journey, Beorn is, so far, arguably the most likeable, at least for a dwarf. Even if he did scowl quite a bit at the beginning and proclaim no love of dwarves.

He’s frowning now, as he seems wont to do, but as his enormous fingers close around Ori’s smaller hand, his lips twitch up at the edges. His sharp eyes roam over Ori, and Ori has the sudden wish that he’d sat on the other side so the table was between them. After fleeing the goblins and being rushed through the air on birds and stuffing his face, he’s not the most presentable. It matters less around other dwarves, but Beorn looks much less weary and much fiercer and has a strong, flat stomach, whereas Ori’s oddly small around the edges yet distinctly round in the middle. 

Yet when Beorn finishes his sweep of Ori’s lumpy body, he rumbles bluntly, “You’re cute. Now you, I wouldn’t mind playing with.”

Ori’s glad he doesn’t have anything in his hands anymore, because if he did, he’d drop them. He can feel his cheeks heating up, flushing right across to his ears. Despite what Dori thinks, he’s old enough to know an innuendo when he hears it, but it still seems like he must’ve heard wrong, and he squeaks, “Play?”

Beorn’s tongue pokes out of his lips to trace the line of his teeth, not quite sharpened and not quite flat. In his deep, growl of a voice, he clarifies, “I’d like to lick honey off your fat rump.”

Ori’s eyes open all the way. He becomes thunderstruck, frozen in place, skin overheating to the point where he hears a faint buzzing in his ears—he thinks he might faint. It’s mostly shock but mingled with confusion and disbelief and maybe a wild, fantastical arousal—he’d just been thinking at dinner about how roguishly handsome this giant was, and it’s the first time in his life he’s ever had someone so attractive look twice at him. 

Beorn seems to take Ori’s silence for protest and moves on. He turns back to the table and continues to clear the plates. Each clank of them echoes in Ori’s head. He wants to help but can’t seem to move. Beorn pays him no more attention, until he somehow manages to grunt, “Okay.” Beorn looks around at him, and he numbly adds, “I’ll do it. ...For Thorin?” But that’s an excuse, just one he feels he needs to tack on.

Beorn wrinkles his nose and grumbles, almost rasping in sudden disapproval, “I’m not here to take things from other men, and you shouldn’t give for them, either.”

“No,” Ori squeaks, shaking his head, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean...” He clears his throat, tries to clear his head, and amends, “I just meant I haven’t... I haven’t gotten to help much, but even if he didn’t—if we weren’t—I mean—” He winds up covering his face with his hands, taking a deep breath, and asking weakly, “Please?”

When he lowers his hands, Beorn’s staring at him, considering, and before the verdict can go astray, Ori hurriedly asks, “How would you like me?”

The grin slowly comes back to Beorn’s face. Then he gestures a hairy arm at the table. Ori look sheepishly at it, and when Beorn growls, “Bent over it,” Ori shivers.

But he does it. He moves stiffly, nervously, but excited all at once—he doesn’t know what they’re going to do, surely not what Beorn said, but anything will be better than his own hand. He pushes between the wooden stools and tilts forward, not sure how far he should go, until a sturdy hand lands in the middle of his back and pushes him down. He turns his cheek and is lowered right down. His hands spread out, fingers curled into his cut-off knit gloves, his eyes closing for a moment as he catches his breath. It’s a bit uncomfortable on his full stomach, and he has to stand on his tiptoes to make it at all. He’s grateful for his thick boots. 

Beorn’s hand pets him once, as though to sooth him, and then it travels down to catch in the hem of his trousers. A second later, Beorn’s tugging them down with Ori’s underwear in tow. He gasps in surprise and at the sudden rush of cold air, but he doesn’t move, paralyzed at Beorn’s approving growl. When his trousers are scrunched down beneath the cheeks of his ass, Beorn slaps one and purrs, “Nice, very nice.” Ori’s completely red again. 

Beorn goes on like that for a moment, both hands now running over him, squeezing his cheeks at once and then dropping them, then swatting at them to make them jiggle. When Beorn pinches him, Ori squeaks, and Beorn chuckles fondly before rubbing over the sore area. He kneads them tenderly, then makes fists in them and pries them open, leaving Ori feeling horribly exposed, ashamed, and oddly turned on all at once. It’s all much, much faster than he thought it would be, but then, Beorn’s part _animal_ , and Ori should’ve guessed as much. 

He tries to look over his shoulder when he sees some clattering behind him, but it hurts his neck to crane that for, and he only catches the end of movement: Beorn fetching a jar from the counter. A second later, something slick and sticky is dripping over Ori’s ass, and he gasps again, twitching on both ends. 

It’s a warm, thick liquid that trickles down his cheeks, in between to trace his crack, and then the honey pot is placed next to him on the table. He blinks at it, hazy and confused. Something spongy presses beneath his ass, right against the back of his round balls, and he yelps. The soft, wide surface swipes up, catching over his asshole and up to meet the honey, smearing the stickiness about. It takes Ori a few shuddering seconds to realize that it’s Beorn’s _tongue_ licking over his ass. 

It feels _huge_. It’s long and thick and textured, warm and wet, and it leaves a trail of saliva behind it everywhere it goes. Beorn laps up Ori’s crack, diverting the honey and burrowing in so that his nose grinds into Ori’s flesh, and Ori can feel the scratch of his stubble. Ori’s fingers scramble for the other end of the table, trying to hold on for dear life; he’s trembling from embarrassment alone. But it feels _good_ , too, so hot and soft and close to his eager cock, though that’s trapped between his legs. He’d spread his thighs open if he could, but his trousers keep them held together. Beorn’s got such a firm grip on his cheeks he can barely move. When Beorn’s thoroughly cleaned Ori’s crack, he moves on to swirling the honey around Ori’s cheeks, pressing in hard to lap it all up. A few times, he feels the hard scrape of Beorn’s teeth, and he worries Beorn will bite him, but Beorn only lightly nips and never cuts. In a few places, he spreads his jaw wide and _sucks_ at Ori’s ripe flesh, leaving Ori to moan wantonly and squirm against the table. 

He’s panting in no time. He feels lewd and horribly _naughty_ , with his pants down right at the kitchen table, and in a guest’s house, no less. The door’s still open to the night, where anyone or any animal could wander through and see him, if not hear him from afar. Beorn pays no mind to it. He slaps one of Ori’s ass cheeks while he swirls his tongue around the other, until he’s nuzzled back into Ori’s crack and is licking over and over again at Ori’s puckered hole. 

Ori, out of instinct alone, tries to _open_ himself. He knows he should relax and feels half boneless but half tense with want. Beorn just keeps rubbing at him, swirling around and coaxing him wider, until his hole flexes wide enough for the tip of Beorn’s tongue to pop inside, curled up. As soon as he does it, Ori cries out, his hips bucking back into Beorn’s face. Beorn pulls his tongue out, chuckles, and slams Ori against the table, holding him fiercer in place. Ori whimpers, and Beorn’s tongue pushes back inside, going further, prying open Ori’s fluttering walls. It’s a strange sensation but too enjoyable. Beorn gets a fair bit in before he starts to slide in and out, going just a little further each time, while Ori writhes in Beorn’s grip and whines. He wants to grind his cock against the table but doesn’t have enough freedom. There’s no room to touch himself. He can only await Beorn’s mercy, until Beorn’s tongue is fully sheathed inside. He can feel the pressure of Beorn’s lips around his hole, a quick suck, and then Beorn’s tongue is jerking rapidly about and Ori _screams_ , unable to contain himself. 

There might be tears in the corner of his eyes. Beorn seems impossibly far inside, and his tongue is mammoth, powerful right to the tip, curling and licking at Ori’s insides from all angles. At its farthest, it brushes a spot inside him that puts stars behind his eyes and makes him dizzy with _pleasure_ , and on all the others he’s filled with spit. He’s trembling uncontrollably. Beorn thrusts into him again and again, fucking him hard. Ori knows he’s started babbling but isn’t even sure what, mostly nonsense, like, “Yes, _yes!_ ” and, “Ahh, _please_!” and a few times he begs, “Please, please, take me, yes—!” He’s never been one for crude language, but somehow he whines, “Beorn, please, _fuck me_.”

Beorn’s tongue pulls out abruptly, and Ori whines with the loss. Beorn nips at his ass and growls, feral and hungry, “I couldn’t fit my cock inside your tiny hole, but I’ll have my taste of you yet, my little dwarf.” Ori can barely understand the words and desperately wants to _try_ —he wants to at least _see_ Beorn’s cock, even though it’s probably _gigantic_ —maybe he could just squeeze it between his thighs or suckle on the tip or at least feel it in his hands and rub it against his face, but he doesn’t get the chance. Beorn’s tongue shoves right back inside him, and he loses himself in his cry. He’s filled to the very brim and lifted off the floor with the force of it, his feet dangling while his ass is pounded hard into the table. There’s an edge of pain on his cock at grinding into the wood but mostly just _pleasure_. Ori’s worried he’ll pass out from it, because it’s all so _good_ and he never knew he could be filled so full and eaten out so well and he shrieks suddenly, his balls tightening and his hole clenching wildly around Beorn’s tongue. He splatters his release against the table, the orgasm hitting him with staggering force. He drowns in that torrent of sheer bliss, while he makes a mess of his stomach and moans helpless from where he’s pinned. 

Even when he’s coming down, he stays foggy-headed. Slowly, the heat ebbs away, and it seems like he’s slipping back into his own skin. He distantly realizes that Beorn’s not inside him anymore. His hole’s stretched wide and dripping. He’s battling a weird mix of feelings, some sick but mostly too satiated to care.

He’s rolled suddenly around. A hand clenches around his thigh and turns him easily, so that he’s flat on his back with his legs in the air. Beorn pins one knee each to the table, bending Ori’s body in two. It exposes him even more, but he’s too fuzzy to say a word. Beorn looks down at him, obviously enjoying the view. Then Beorn ducks for one last swipe of his powerful tongue, catching all of Ori’s release at once and leaving him wet with his host’s saliva instead of his own seed. Beorn licks his lips and swallows crudely, noting, “You make a nice meal, dwarf.”

“Ori,” Ori murmurs sleepily, in case Beorn’s forgotten his name. Beorn grins but doesn’t repeat it. 

Beorn helps shuffle Ori’s trousers back up, then scoops him into waiting arms, where he melts against Beorn’s chest and tries to stay conscious. Beorn pets his hair once, murmuring, “You are a pretty thing, and you’re welcome back any time.” Ori wants to say thank you but doesn’t have the wherewithal. 

He’s carried through the house, and then he’s laid down on a mattress, where he curls into Beorn’s pillow to bury his burning face. It smells thickly of Beorn’s musk, but he likes it. He waits for Beorn to get on beside him, but instead, Beorn’s heavy footsteps leave, maybe back to finish with the dishes. 

Ori’s left to snuggle into the blankets. The other dwarves will wonder where he is sooner or later, but he doesn’t have the energy to go tell them. He’s not entirely sure he wants to leave anymore, but he’s at least sure that, someday, he’ll travel by this way again.


End file.
